The Slaughtered Lamb
by LadyBootstrap
Summary: Post-TDK Gotham is seemingly as its lowest point in history, from even when the streets were ruled by mobs. And, even worse, 'freaks' are edging in to become the new Crime-Lords of the city, and even Batman cannot fight all crime at once.
1. Chapter 1

**The Slaughtered Lamb**

It took the Joker little over a week to escape from Arkham asylum. Somehow- the newspapers had many theories- he had managed to seduce a young psychiatrist. She was found, barely days later, with her face carved into a permanent smile, but never able to laugh again.

The body count only went up from there.

Gotham was in turmoil; its white knight dead, its dark knight apparently revealed as anything but a saviour, and the man who had caused it all was now freely roaming the streets. People panicked. No matter how many times the mayor claimed he was stepping up security, putting more policemen on the streets, everybody was worried: worried that they would be attacked, or worse, by the Joker or even the Batman himself.

But some men kept hope. Some men held their faith in the Batman, whether they knew the circumstances with Harvey Dent or not. It was these men who walked the streets with little fear, heads held high in the knowledge that Gotham would always have her dark protector.

* * *

'Nothing's here, sir.'

Police Commissioner Jim Gordon scowled at the news his lieutenant had just given him, but never taking his eyes off the man whose premises they were searching. They had been tipped off, anonymously, that there were dark dealings beneath the shining veneer of the 'Iceberg Lounge', a fact which someone he trusted utterly had confirmed. But, as had just been said, there was nothing- no information of drug dealings or human trafficking as described.

The owner of the establishment wore a satisfied smirk.

'Satisfied, Commissioner?' he asked, looking down at Gordon with his beaklike nose despite the fact he was much shorter. 'As I told you earlier, I have nothing to hide, and you may search as long as you wish…'

They both looked at each other for a while longer; a silent battle of wits taking place. The Gotham Times would not be light when reporting this, they both knew that, but the choice was between searching deeper until any sort of proof was found, or pulling out now before the damage got worse. Criticism was already rising against them, especially after the Joker's escape.

'No,' the other replied sharply, drawing himself to his full height. Jim Gordon could be a menacing figure when he needed, despite his lean figure, thick glasses, and the flecks of grey that now decorated his hair thanks to his recent promotion. There was something about him, something ineffable that made him strong and the prime candidate for the job. 'We're done here. Thank you for your time Mr Cobblepot.'

The squat man gave a dramatic bow, and in his expensive suit he cut an almost comical figure, if the amount of power and wealth he had was discounted.

The Commissioner did not like this man, but without proof he could do nothing. It seemed he would have to ask for help from 'outside sources' to deal with this case- with Maroni and most of the mob gone, many others were now attempting to fill their place, and Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot seemed to be one of them. Sure, he hardly looked like a threat, with his strange waddling walk (which reminded Gordon of a duck, or perhaps another bird…) and his air of refinery he patently lacked, but there was more to him that that…

There were rumours, horrific ones to say the least, but without evidence- at least in this case- he was absolutely powerless.

Nothing more was said between them, and slowly the members of GCPD filtered out of the popular club, leaving nothing behind but fingerprints. Oswald Cobblepot's smirk still remained as he walked back to his desk, and he did not seem at all surprised when the phone suddenly rang.

'I take it you have them…' he stated, after pressing the button so he was speaking on intercom. 'Longer than expected, I must say…'

'Yes,' another voice replied, but much less self-assured than that of the business owner. 'We have- we have most of them. It-'

'_Most_?' Cobblepot had picked up on the danger word, and for a moment his oddly beady eyes almost seemed to flash red. 'I thought you promised me each and every shipment _would_ be recovered after your little run-in with 'the Dark Knight'? Did you not say I would have my goods within the week? Well?!' He did not shout, but his anger was evident all the same.

There was silence for a few moments, and then the sound of the person on the other line audibly gulping.

'We'll get them,' they replied finally, much more subdued than before. 'Within the week, just like we said.' When Cobblepot did not reply they seemed to swallow again. 'And- and we'll knock a third of the price, just for your trouble…'

The smirk grew at those desperate words.

'Very well,' he replied smoothly. He sat back on his leather chair comfortably, looking very much like a greedy child surveying his large collection of toys. 'I accept your offer, and hope to see results.' There was a threatening tone in his voice, though nothing was stated explicably. 'Goodbye Mr-'

'Wait!' the other cried out. 'Just… wait… What if we get another interruption?'

'The Batman will not-'

'No, the Joker.'

Oswald just about laughed. 'That two-bit clown will not be a problem either. Since his escape he has not been sighted- not once- and besides… Why ever would the madman target me when there are so many ripe for the picking? Hmmm?' This contact was useful, but he did complain… His associate was much easier to work with, even if he did have a problem with civility.

'But last time he targeted-'

_Click_

He hung up, too tired by damn Gordon's interference to bother with any more of the man's whining. He had a club to run- Gotham's very own Bruce Wayne was said to be attending tonight's social gathering, and he had to make arrangements… But first, relaxation. Oswald Cobblepot smiled to himself, and then hobbled over to feed his large collection of exotic birds.

* * *

Anthony Price (a man of little importance, which he would readily admit himself) was hurriedly making his way home, knowing he was already late and as each second went by his wife would get angrier and angrier at his absence. Things were not great there at the moment, and he really didn't want things to get worse. And for that reason he had taken a shortcut down a dark alleyway. Where was the harm in that? This was a good neighbourhood after all, no muggers or hoodlums here…

But still, the mere thought of anyone hiding in the shadows made him quicken his pace. Of course, he told himself it was merely because the air was cold and his wife was waiting, but even he could not deny the sudden presence of his heart beating in his ears. Onwards, he walked. The route never seemed this long in the daytime… Perhaps he had taken a wrong turning somewhere, took the wrong path, and was now heading in the wrong-

He heard a growl from behind.

Suddenly, all of his limbs were rendered immovable from a sudden shot of fear. The adrenaline did anything but power him up for a swift escape, instead rooting him to the spot. A bead of sweat slowly ran down his face. He heard a short rustling behind him, but then only silence. He waited, and waited, and waited. Nothing happened. Nothing. No attack, no demands, nothing.

But the thought would not leave him, and Anthony knew, just like when he was a child and imagined a monster under the bed, he would have to make sure nothing was there before becoming unafraid.

He waited a while longer, and after what seemed an age he finally decided to turn around and confront whoever it was. He turned, but he expected to see some kind of animal, not a human woman.

Slowly, he let out a sigh of relief, but then the old fear returned. She was carrying no weapon, but something about her just seemed _wrong_… It couldn't be the raggedness of her hair, or her ripped clothes, none of her unkempt appearance in fact, for he had seen homeless people in much worse condition. So what was it? He looked at her a while longer- she stared back silently- and then it hit him.

It was the eyes.

There was something intelligent in the darkness of them, a bright spark, and yet he could see no… no **soul**… Where was that strange light he saw in his daughter, in a newborn child, even in the dregs of society? The sheer essence of humanity was missing, as if he was staring into the eyes of a dog; full of life and astuteness, but- as he had just noticed- completely soulless.

'Are-are you okay?' he questioned, but he might as well have been talking to the evening air, for she made no sign that she had heard him. In a concerned gesture, he moved forwards a little, but just as suddenly she returned into the shadows, and it seemed as if she had never been there at all.

Anthony waited a few moments but, like when he had been standing stock still before, there was nothing. Even when he shouted out into the darkness nothing happened. He shrugged. Arkham was full of crazies, it had probably been an escapee. Security couldn't be too tight if they had let the Joker escape…

With that in his mind, he abruptly noticed something white, something out of place, on the floor. He picked it up, revealing a playing card: a joker, to be exact.

He barely had any time to take this in when the building next to him exploded.

To be continued…

* * *

A/N Hopefully I'll finally be able to finish a multi-chapter story- this one has a clear ending in mind, and probably won't be more than three chapters long. Probably. The psychiatrist mentioned at the start is definitely dead, as as much as I love Harley Quinn (Who might not even be that woman, who knows?) I don't want to overload on characters and the Joker will be hard enough to write as it is. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this, and as always I apologise for any OOCness.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes, the threat of death isn't enough, and in an interrogation you have to cause physical harm. Policemen weren't supposed to cross this line, but that was why Batman had been created- he was not bound by such statures and Gotham needed someone who could, even if the general populace did not quite accept it.

The day before, after a period of chilling silence, the Joker had made his first move.

A fishmonger's had been blown up- luckily no one had been inside, but a man had been caught in the explosion, dying later in hospital of third degree burns. Another one of the clown's victims- the name Anthony Price being added to a list that only seemed to be growing. There seemed to be no motive other than causing chaos. No mob ties, no run-ins with the law.

Flipper's fish emporium seemed to be just that, a shop to buy fresh fish, though now it lay in ruins, even the shop's child-friendly and cute mascot (Named Flipper, oddly enough a penguin and not a dolphin) was burnt beyond all recognition on the sign.

And this, of course, was the reason for the interrogation, and why a certain member (albeit only a small fry in the larger picture) of the criminal underworld was clutching a broken nose.

'Ready to talk?' a deep voice growled, one that no one would ever associate with Bruce Wayne, and that was the point.

The criminal looked at his attacker, decked out in black and looking almost as crazy as the Joker for dressing in such a fashion, but also just as dangerous. What sane person put on a costume to mimic a _bat_?

'No, no, no… you don't... You don't understand!' the other almost yelled, and did a good job of it considering his present condition. 'He'll kill me… I can't say... I can't-'

He was cut off by yet another sharp blow to the head.

'I need to know!' the Batman demanded. There were no leads on the Joker so far, but there were some on Cobblepot, and he couldn't help but think the two were connected somehow… The black market in Gotham was flourishing and he had intercepted many messages concerning 'goods'… The only problem lay in what those 'goods' actually were, and even the most cowardly of criminals were being oddly quiet about it.

He grabbed the heavily tattooed criminal by the throat, harshly shoving him against the wall, glaring angrily as he struggled for breath.

'No… Can't… Fine… protection…' he garbled out, and the Batman released his hold a little. A sigh of relief was let out. 'Protection first, then I'll tell… Please, I don't want to die…'

And the other man nodded, looking ahead, noting the lack of his signal in the sky. It had not shone for months- Batman was an enemy of Gotham, no longer her protector…

* * *

Oswald Cobblepot slammed the phone down angrily, though his expression looked as sedate as ever. The goods had been recovered in expert time, all except for one. And, unfortunately, that just so happened to be the one he would make the greatest loss from. He needed it back quickly, but how? There were already men on the job, though he supposed there would be no harm in sending out a few more, just in case...

The phone rang again suddenly, jarring him out of his thoughts.

He smiled and smoothed out his waistcoat despite the fact no one was around to see him, certain that it would be good news he would be hearing on the other line. Why else would they ring him so soon? No doubt someone had contacted them to where the goods were, obviously seeking the reward he had set out... Oswald hated the lose things: games, gambling, and especially his possessions, or at least things in which he held for others.

He scooped it up, putting the phone to his ear. The smile fell.

Once again, the owner of the Iceberg Lounge put the phone down angrily, but this time with horrible, high-pitched and insane laughter ringing in his ears.

* * *

She did not like the noise. (It hurt her ears, made them pound, made her want to scream) Only the day before there had been the loud bang and flames in the distance, and now these metal monstrosities (They had a name, she knew it, but it was lost in her mind) whooshed past on the road. She was used to the blaring of music, the shouting of people, but not this. They moved faster than anything she has ever seen in her life (Faster than the punches, faster than the whip), and she decided to take shelter in another alley where such unnatural objects do not exist. Things would be subdued there; the lights and the sounds and even the people.

Nobody gave her a second glance as she walks past, not like that man did before, just discounting her for another crazy on the street.

Finally, she found one, and seemed to slip into the darkness. She had done wrong, she knew it, but what could she do? There was screaming, and shouting, and bangs- she had to run. It meant leaving the safety of home, something she was told never to do, but she was frightened… Still, she knew punishment will lay in wait when she returned, but she just longed for the simplicity of home, where she is fed and looked after…

She needed to find Master. Master always knew what to do. He was the authority. Master is good, and she is bad. Master is-

A shuffling sound disrupted her thoughts. Fear fell onto her. Not everyone is as kind as Master, she had been told that many times, with him saying often how cruel the world outside is… She turned, afraid, but ready to fight. She managed to escape last time, from the man and that strange inferno, and she hoped she can do it again.

Another man greeted her, but he was smiling, if in a lop-sided sort of way.

'Hey there…' he slurred, and he smelt a little like some of the men did at the club; a strange, heavy sort of scent that some of the drinks also shared. He muttered some incomprehensible things and slumped against the wall. She stiffened. He was still smiling, but she was not. 'Hey… Don't be scared…' His voice was no different, but it was with the odd softness Master used when she had done a good job.

She still made no reply, but wondered if perhaps he knew Master. She needed to get back, needed to apologise, and she knew she would never run away or disobey him again. The outside world is cruel and wicked, just like he said.

'Lookin' right at you Doll…' He waved a hand vaguely in her direction; using the pet name he had graced his wife with, until she ran off with that bastard cop. 'You're not a bitch like her, are you, eh? Nah… And she says _I_ have a problem… Don't need… stupid… AA… not me…' he drifted off a little, eyelids drooping, and although she understood the words used she comprehended very little.

Was he even speaking to her? And as if he could read her mind (Something she sometimes found herself wondering if Master could do) he spoke again:

'Yeah, Doll, I'm talkin' to you…' He smiled leeringly, yellowing teeth on show, but he looked more pitiful than dangerous. His misty eyes barely took in her unkempt appearance, or anything that might be strange about her. 'Come on, Doll, let's-'

'Are you okay sir?' another voice asked suddenly, coming from a member of 'Gotham's finest': a policewoman, new on the job. She strode into the alleyway, her flashlight penetrating the darkness.

'Fine, love,' the man replied with another sagging grin, his drunken condition very obvious. 'I was just… talking to my wife see…' He waved his hand again and the policewoman looked ahead, frowning.

There was no one there.

* * *

Somewhere, deep within Gotham, another policewoman laughed.

Her fiancé, thinking himself a romantic, had bought her to an expensive restaurant. Their relationship had been on the rocks for a while, but this had seemed like just the thing to solve all of their problems. She loved the flowers (Made out to 'Clarissa, my love' just as asked) and the smile on her face had simply been priceless when he had told her where they were going.

It had been like old times. They had talked together, and it was as if both of their respective jobs had not caused a rift between them. Both of them had felt happier than ever, and Clarissa had never seemed more beautiful.

And then, after only one bite of her steak, she had laughed at his favourite joke. And laughed, and laughed and laughed.

She was still laughing when the ambulance came to take her away.

To be continued…

* * *

A/N I just noticed that the title of this fic is a werewolf reference… Now as much as I adore the film 'An American Werewolf in London' I have to say that this fic will stay with Nolan's view of a realistic take on Batman, so there will be no superpowers of any kind, not even those brought on by scientific experiments.


End file.
